


A Moment of Respite (Respite and Nepenthe)

by ElectricKettle (DaLaRi)



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Exile of the Dwarves, Height Differences, Hospitality of the Elves, M/M, One Night Stands, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rivendell | Imladris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:41:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27620818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaLaRi/pseuds/ElectricKettle
Summary: "You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield. The only ill will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself."- - -Thorin goes with a proposition to Elrond in the Elf-lord's private quarters. He finds more relief there than he might have expected, a windfall as he faces the long road ahead.
Relationships: Elrond Peredhel/Thorin Oakenshield
Kudos: 11





	A Moment of Respite (Respite and Nepenthe)

**Author's Note:**

> I love Elrond's whole deal, I love how cruisey the dwarves all are, I love Thorin's responsibility complex, and I just think he deserves something and someone nice, if only for a day.

Thorin crept through the halls of Rivendell, seeking out the chambers of the lord Elrond. He had a proposition to offer, and he hoped it was not met with offense.

\- - -

"I am a guest in your halls, my lord."

"That you are, Thorin son of Thrain. I am not in the habit of offering visitations of this nature to my guests. The security of my hospitality must come before anything else."

"I completely understand. However, if you do not consider accepting an offer freely made as a breach of hospitality…"

Elrond smiled, surprisingly genuine. "Very well. A visitation freely offered, then."

Thorin inclined his head. Elrond stepped back, sweeping an arm out into his chambers.

Much like the lord of Rivendell himself, the rooms were well-appointed, but where Elrond dressed among the more muted styles of elven nobility, his rooms were a testament to the fineness of elven craftsmanship. For all the ill will Thorin held, the work of the craftsmen awed him, and he found himself looking around like an untested youngster, mouth no doubt agape at the fineness of the things that surrounded him, simple-seeming though they were.

Elrond seemed to approve of his eye for craftsmanship. His demeanor had not shifted as they moved into the room, and as he settled onto a settee to watch thorin as he moved into the sitting room, his gaze held a gentleness to it that was only one part pride in his home, appreciation of Thorin’s appreciation.

Thorin, following him, sat on a chair across from the lord of Rivendell. His hands twitched. Abruptly he did not know what to do. Elrond, perhaps sensing his hesitation, lifted the circlet from his head, setting it on the table between them.

"There is space for your clothing in the room behind you, cabinets that will lock if you want them to. I can wait for you here or in the bedchamber as you prefer."

Thorin’s throat, in spite of the strangeness, was thick with gratefulness.

"If you would wait here until I rejoin you, I will join you before long."

"Please, master dwarf, there’s no need to rush. You have had a long road and there are comforts here that you will find sparse on the road to come. Take what time you need."

Thorin inclined his head, and stood.

It was as the lord Elrond had said. A cabinet, cloths and saddle soap with which to clean his boots, armor, and scabbards. Soap for his clothes and places to drape them as they dried. Cabinets with room enough for sword and axe and daggers and backpack and bedroll, locked with a tiny wooden key that Thorin tucked into one of his shirts laid out to dry. Salves to ease bruising and heal cuts, to soothe blisters and soften calluses, oils for his hair and beard, fine cleaning tools for jewlery that would scrape the dust of the road out of the beads in his hair. As he unbraided his hair before a mirror, he saw the myriad ways the long time since he had seen luxuries such as these had left marks on him. He was more lined now than he was then, grey threaded through his hair like silver through stone, more scarred than he had been, a martial prince’s rough hands worn away to workman’s crookedness. He bore the marks of hard labor, hard times, and hard luck, but in the elven lord’s bower, the lines seemed softened. Granted permission to set himself to rights, he sunk into the warm bath provided gratefully, washed the road from himself with gentle soaps, trimmed his nails and cleaned his teeth, felt the heat sink into his bones and loosen some of the stiffness of a travel bedroll from his back. By the time he settled the last of his beads in his hair he abruptly remembered he had been handsome, once, and felt the possibility stir in him again. Contemplating his clothes, he debated boldness as to discarding them before noticing a series of belted robes in an alcove set against the wall. The one that fit him was too long in the legs, but he refused to feel shame at the way it skimmed the floor. Elven fabrics were sturdy. It would hold under the wear of an hour’s dragging.

As he stepped into the room, he saw immediately the wiseness of his decision. Elrond, too, was dressed only in the robe, the low vee of the openness of it drawing the moisture from thorin’s throat as the lord of Rivendell closed his book and looked up at him, genuine relief and delight in his face.

"Did you find everything you needed?"

"And more besides. The hospitality of your halls is beyond what I could have expected, even before the generosity of your adherence to it."

"That alone makes the adherence worth the care."

Thorin crossed the space and held the lounging elf’s face in one hand, their faces level, measured, breathing each other’s space. Elrond leaned in.

They kissed for a long moment, and Thorin felt himself shedding the weight of the journey as he mapped the elven lord’s face with his hands. With the Company he could afford no mistakes, and even before the Company, amid those who named him king, there was a yoke of responsibility that he did not feel in Elrond’s chambers. He could get lost in the tide of it, push his hair out of his face and move to straddle the elven lord. Elrond was solid under him, the differences in their height making them level even as Thorin sat in his lap, feeling the heat of him under Thorin, only their robes between them. Elrond’s fingers tangled in his hair, scratched gently at his beard as he guided Thorin’s jaw up, mouthing at his neck, scraping gently with his teeth, nothing close to a bite, nothing close to a mark he’d have to explain. Thorin found his own hands moving to the neckline of the robe, shoving it off of Elrond's shoulders as he rested his wrists at the nape of his neck, behind the thick straight curtain of his hair. Elrond’s hair was smooth and coarse, and Thorin felt the rasp of it between his fingers as Elrond moved to his collarbone, scraping gently there too. Thorin sighed, arched into it, feeling goosebumps and electricity as Elrond's hand pushed the robe to the side, his mouth finding Thorin’s nipple, biting gently, tugging. He knew he looked like a wanton thing, head still flung back though Elrond's hands had moved, shifting slightly back and forth to ride Elrond's thigh, all thoughts of kingship or lineage or ancient debts or lonely mountains far from his mind as Elrond pulled at the fastening of the robe, pushing it aside entirely and baring him to the diffuse light of the room. At the feel of Elrond's dry hand on his cock he almost sobbed. It was too much, it wasn’t enough. After months and years of overstimulating travel, to be overwhelmed in this way was a gift beyond receiving. With his other hand, Elrond had been opening a container on the table, and with a subtle herbal scent and a cool, slick slide, he traded his dry hand for the other. Thorin’s hand tightened at Elrond's nape, his forehead leaned against Elrond's as Elrond worked him, unhurriedly, towards relief. Elrond kissed him periodically, but Thorin was nearly too overwhelmed to follow, only aware that when he came, whatever noise he made was made against the elf’s mouth. A soft, smooth cloth followed after a moment.

The night was long and full of similar moments. Elrond lay him out on the large elven bed, determined to bring him to bliss even though his body could no longer respond to it, long fingers reached inside him until he trembled, shouting, and came without coming. He rode Elrond, the stretch of him a luxury Thorin had not known in a long time, and when Elrond came, Thorin relished the sight of him, and knew this respite would tide him over for a long time. And when he returned, boots polished, shirts clean, axe mended and sword polished to a brightness, there was no question that had been where he said he had been, no matter how the clean herbal scent of Elrond's hand on him lingered on his skin. And when they set out that morning for the wilds, it was with no enmity in his heart for Lord Elrond that Thorin Son of Thrain departed the hidden valley.


End file.
